Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That For Two  Years 
 I  Couldn'T Go  To. Regardless How  Much 
 Discussed  With Others,  Or  Pointed Out 
 On Maps,  I Could Not  Think Of It  When 
 Alone.  I Would  Often  Travel  Past The 
 Fork,  Where  A Right  Turn Would Surely 
 Take Me There,  But Even Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When I  Finally  Got There,  After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,  The  Place   Was   Surreal.  An 
 Esker, Like A  Needle-Thin  Rift Out  In 
 The  Lake,  But   Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned  In Birch,  Willow, Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The View To  Either  Side. There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize  Them. First Off, They 
 Were  Much Too Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For  A  Hundred Meters More  On 
 Both Sides.  But  Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost Reach  Out And  Touch  Them.  And 
 Then, When I Realized Which Shores  They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of The Right  Lake.  But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite. Like A Pair Of  Lungs  Carved 
 Into The Granite, And  With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them As Belonging  Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,  The   Treeline 
 Above. Was This  What  You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                Remember.                 
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On  The  Very Tip  Of 
 The  Esker,  I  Found The  Ruins Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The  Moss,  And Strange  Slabs  Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like Dams  Against  The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There, I Could  See  Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire  Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From  The Stairwell  Of  My House, 
 Through  The  Old Woods Behind The  Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three And  Then  Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The  Fancy   Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields,  And Then That Right Turn At The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And  Then  The  Stairs Up On The  Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This  Was Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In A  Grove,  There Were  Stairs 
 Much  Like The Ones I  Currently Sat On, 
 Old And  Worn  Down,  That  Lead You  Up 
 Onto The  Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted Opted  To Walk The Path  At Its 
 Foot, I'M  Sure  My  Experience Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The   Lake,  There  Were  People  In 
 Boats.  I Wondered, Could  They Even See 
 Me?  If I  Shouted, Would  They Turn  To 
          Stare Right Through Me?